As has been mentioned, my dad took two weeks off work (he works in a sweat shop where he sews your Adidas alongside small Korean children for 22 cents an hour. At 6'10" he's definitely getting the shit end of the deal if they're paying by scale.) and has hit the word 'celebration' hard in the head with a bottle of metaphorical Jack and Coke. It's been such a chill fortnight, with watching some movies, playing games, and eating bulk-buy amounts of off-brand candy, that I truly wish we had him home all the time. Dude is awesome, y'all.
He started his two-week leave by visiting the aforementioned Utana and her husand Eric, friends of his since forever as explained a couple of posts ago. That was a rip-roaring success by all accounts, and he came home on a mission to set up our grungy old dartboard in the living room type area so we could play, because apparently the Courts (that would be the U and E) turned him in his short stay there.
My dad and I went book hunting, (I had previously managed to buy "Part 2" of a book I had been wanting, thinking I had scored it cheaper than buying it new. Upon discovery of my arse-nippling stupidity, we went back to the shop hoping "Part 1" of the blasted thing would still be there. T'wasn't. Poo sticks and fart dynamite.) and in there somewhere I told you in colourful terms of a game played in our backyard with tennis rackets and balls, and a badminton net. Badtennis or Tedminton, whichever you prefer.
As you can see it is either a small mercy or a cruel circumvention of a truly hilarious real-life moment of bliss that no one donnered into the pool. And yes, as to your question, whilst the precise turquoise hue of the pool serves a delicate balance to the overall colour palette of the photography above, it was achieved not so much in a way you would dare to call deliberate. Should Dulux be pressed to find a name for this particular shade, they may allow for it to be remarked upon as "Non-Deliberate Musk in Pond-y Overtones", although I suddenly question the reliability of my memory as to Dulux's wont towards such narrative paint names. Meh, whatevs.
Much lark of this nature prevailed the time between then and now- me and topical-father watched some movies and and chilled like, a lot, yo. Then yesterday, as the final week of his absconsion started to draw to a bitter-sweet close for poor old dad, we trekked off for another round of beer-tacular fun over at the Courts'. This time, I could not possibly excuse myself for missing the jollity, so I even packed an over-night bag and everything. ROAD TRIP
It was a grand old time. There was much laughing and drinking, and wors-rolls happened at some point in the evening which can never be a bad thing. I discovered Utana's son Verdale to be most agreeable indeed, although the poor lad kept apologising for making slightly scurvy jokes in my presence. Even through my vehement insistence, I don't think he quite understands the extent to which I am not a flower petal, delicate snowflake or intricate lacework of any kind. I can out-dirty-mind you in my sleep, boy, and I probably already have, so please, relax, pull up the bodily function of your choice and come celebrate Cuss Like a Sailor Day with me sometime.
The sleeping out was not so traumatic as one would have imagined- in fact, I made a new friend. I named him Lord Engelbrecht, and he was a not-insubstantially-sized spider that scuttled around the room I camped in. I saw him only twice, but I came to grow fond of his quiet way, his gentle disposition and hi- DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE COME UP ON THE GODFORSAKEN MOTHERFUCKING BED YOU INSTRUMENT OF AN UNHOLY UNDERLORD, OR I SHALL SMITE YOU WHERE YOU STAND
I'm sorry, where was I? I lose my train of thought so easily these days.
Yes, so excellent company, food, drink, slept until the fine PM of a summer's day- can't say my life could want for more if I had an application card to fill in. Except if there was a box to check for Stephen Fry, but that's neither here nor there.
And that brings us to another round of FOR THE LOVE OF PIE: CELEBRITY EDITION!
Please bear in mind, as you peruse my celebrity sightings, that these are not always meant to be exact matches, you fucking pedants. Take it more in a "one could play the other in a movie" or "could play the other's brother/mother/sister/father/second uncle twice removed on his mother's step sister's side etc." sense. It's my little game, and while some people's celebrity look-alikes are more eerily accurate than others, I can at least find a fitting one for most people. So, without any further ado, the LookALotAlikers:
Utana Court, Starring as Celia Weston
Verdale Rorke as Hank Azaria
Leon Birkenstock as Moritz Bleibtreu
The Love Child of Alice Cooper and Willie Nelson as Eric Court
Now a word on other matters. I don't know how many of you watch the British show Merlin, but I can't recommend it highly enough. It started out largely as a kids show, and has a lot of the naivete and low-level-cheese of Dr. Who, but it for all its faults it genuinely has a spark of brilliance. A part of it is the relationship between the reimagined Prince Arthur and his now servant Merlin, and the two playing the leads come up with moments of such profound tenderness in amongst said cheese that it's breathtaking.
The new season just started, and I've just finished the two aired episodes. To whit, I'd like to show you an example from the first, where Arthur goes to say goodbye to his father King Uther, who has been nearly catatonic for a year. It's a dangerous mission he departs on, and it kills him that he has to say his goodbyes to his father in this condition.
He stands up and turns to walk away, not knowing if his words have taken hold...
...And that's when I start weeping like a child. This is an actor (Bradley James) who was essentially tasked to do a kiddies show with magic and dragons, and he's bringing the tears, man, THE TEARS. I just want to cradle him to my ample bosom, softly stroke his flaxen head and softly whisper in his ear whether he prefers red lingerie or black. (I would advise opening those above two pics in separate tabs to get the full effect and to be able to read my genre-font properly.)
In the next episode, the guy who plays Merlin (Colin Morgan) does his own little Devastating Theatre Of One, when he is seemingly mortally wounded, and refuses to be sent back to Camelot, insisting he must continue on with Arthur, his friend.
Colin actually makes a habit of socking you in the jaw out of left field with little bombs of Oscar gold like this, but it's been a while since I've been allowed a fix of Merlin. Also, if you were to accuse me of being plunged at a glance into a gale of tears at movies and TV shows (and books and songs) that are just that well done, then you might not be liable to any kind of criminal action. But look at that desperate resilience! I just want to hold him to my warming skin, nurse his wounds and tenderly inquire as to his preference for brief-cuts or thongs.
Any-who, my fine chocolate lovelies, I bid you farewell as I contemplate a tabasco-heat bath. Also, I had one of those pizza-bread things from Spar for late lunch and late dinner after that, and now I have to think up some new ways of preventing my moron cat from digging the wrapper out of the trash and swallowing it whole. She's a bread fiend.